Hope May Vanish
by vixen1836
Summary: Successful executive Edward Cullen is living a nightmare: the love of his life Bella Swan has disappeared without a trace. Raw, unedited. Continued by request and inspiration with prompts from Fictionista Workshop's WitFit challenge. RATED M. AU/AH.
1. Chapter 1, Prompt: Abracadabra

**I do not own Twilight.**

**Hi. Originally, this was posted under the Fictionista WitFit story, so forgive the confusion. For ease of reading this, I've moved it over here.**

**So, this first chapter started out as a one-shot only in response to Fictionista Workshop's WitFit challenge prompt to the word "abracadabra" (12.2.09), but then a story emerged from there.**

**Hope May Vanish is a casual fulfillment of the remaining Daily WitFit prompts. It's something I am exploring based on awesome reader encouragement and wild imagination. I will finish it.**

**For those with questions about Fictionista Workshop's Daily WitFit: the word prompt series uses multimedia writing prompts with two levels of difficulty; one for those short on time, and a second for those that have more time to explore. Writers will then ruminate over their prompt and challenge their imagination to create an entry every day. There is no editing and I am in the process of heavy novel editing, so if you see a typo, a repeated word or any of those types of things a thorough author capable of doing more than one revision would usually catch, please feel free to PM me. I am the typo queen and I hate them, so I appreciate it. This is dark and a little raw, but I hope you enjoy.**

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**"Life may change, but it may fly not. Hope may vanish, but can die not. Truth be veiled, but still burneth; Love repulses, - but it returneth."**

**- Percy Bysshe Shelley**

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It was a gray Thursday morning. He was still taking the train; the short assignment she was on placed her in his path.

This was before his recent success, before his latest acquisition; before his fortune was made. He was so tired that morning, having been up all night preparing the proposal that made him rich, wanting nothing more than to fall into his newspaper. For the most part, he succeeded in ignoring his surroundings until a loud sigh from across the aisle caught his attention. Looking up from his paper, he saw her. A pretty girl had stepped onto the train looking exasperated, anxious to find a seat, searching through her bag for something. She had long dark hair and he couldn't look away.

The rest of his commute was spent pretending to read, hers avoiding the handsome man a few seats away, their eyes meeting once and then occasionally across the aisle, though neither wanted to be rude.

She left as furiously as she had entered, and although the whole exchange was relatively unremarkable, he thought of the sighing girl for the rest of the day, wondering what her name was, why she was so frazzled, where she lived, and where she worked. But pouring over the details he had gathered during that brief moment wasn't enough for him, and the end of his workday found him hoping to see her again.

That following morning he dressed in his best, and headed to the train at the same time to wait for her. Common sense dictated that it was ridiculous to be so nervous when he didn't even know her, knowing that he would be disappointed if she weren't on the train. He told himself he was just lonely, not knowing quite how true that was.

For the whole ride to her previous entrance, he tapped his foot, skimming the sports section with excitement he hadn't felt in a long time. When she entered the train, there was a pull and then a summons. They both felt it: attraction, curiosity, electricity.

He hadn't asked a woman out since college, but the prospect of letting her get away pushed him to move. Brazenly, Edward took a chance and followed her from the train, stopping her with a polite "excuse me" on the platform. Her eyes were so beautiful, shining with relief and curiosity as she accepted his invitation. His heart swelled, knowing he had made the right decision.

Weeks later, lying bare and naked on the floor of his apartment, she confessed to choosing his route by mistake, yet returning the next day just to see him. Hoping that he would make a move.

That Sunday, they shared coffee and discovered that "love at first sight" was exactly what they had felt, though not in the way most people expected. That moment was just the bait, while their second meeting pursued by mutual magnetism was the catch. Neither of them ever looked back.

Running his thumb across the image of her face soothed him, the simulation of touching familiar features was as comforting as anything could be. She hated this photograph, and now, more than anything, he was glad he had taken it. This was his candid Bella; pure and beautiful.

Their vacation last summer was their first together, and after driving for miles in the wind and the sun, he had caught sight of an incredible field of colorful flowers. After marveling from the roadside, he insisted they stop and that she pose for a picture. He knew she hated taking pictures of herself, but he was unwilling to barter. Their digital camera was new and he wanted to use it with her.

The sun was bright in the photo, highlighting her shiny hair as she sat in the field, dressed in a simple green tank top and shorts. Her eyes held a reproving look reserved for reluctant photographs, her frown almost humorous. But that wasn't where he focused; it was the way her eyes were so alive in the picture, with the lens focus capturing the corner of her lashes, so clear he could see little lines of previous laughter.

"Edward?" he heard a familiar voice.

His thumb stopped.

Slowly, his head lifted, his eyes blurry and unfocused on the sharp eyes of his sweet sister staring back at him. He was so tired.

"I'm sorry, but it's late and the investigators are back. It's time to get up," she whispered, her eyes flitting back and forth with concern.

For as long as she could remember, her big brother had been a pillar of strength. Seeing him this way broke her heart. He needed rest, but getting him up and to his room was no easy task. The last few nights he'd been more insistent on waiting for Bella. "Let's get you to your room," she tried again.

"Our room," Edward corrected, saddened anew by the oversight. She was right, though, and he knew it. It wouldn't be long now until sleep took him, but he wasn't ready yet. He wanted to stay and wait, remembering Bella and California flowers.

"I'm sorry." He heard Alice say, her previous slip forgotten already. He wanted to apologize for being so weak, but could not form the words. His throat was dry from the sedatives.

_Tomorrow_, he promised himself, staring at the picture of her dark brown eyes. Tomorrow would be the day. Tomorrow he would find her. He could_ feel_ it.

And when she came back, he would tell her how beautiful she was, how this photograph, and her smile, and his memories of her kept him sane. There was so much he hadn't told her, so many moments not cherished properly.

"_No!" Bella screeched, tumbling onto the bed with the picture in her hand. He tackled her, landing on top of her with force, laughing breathlessly too. She giggled, vibrant and winded from running up the stairs._

"_You're faster than I thought you'd be," he said, settling comfortably between her legs, his hands clasping her wrists above her head. "I love that picture. Give it back," he insisted, staring at her mouth as she caught her breath._

_The photograph she despised was held hostage, the delicate paper pinched between two fingers, just barely in her grasp. He wanted it back, but she had a list of excuses for keeping it: the sun too harsh on her already-pale complexion, the clothing she had worn for driving was unflattering..._

_In his opinion, she was wrong on every count._

"_No," she smirked, daring him to try again._

"_Give it back."_

"_No..." she teased. He decided then that if she was taunting him, he would do the same. Knowing her weakness, he kissed her neck, breathing against her skin to make her shiver._

"_Edward..." she said, knowing his tactic would succeed. They kissed then, but he didn't go for the photograph, nor did she let go, enjoying the moment, neither of them surrendering yet._

_But soon, they were getting worked up, kissing between shuddering breaths, serious lust driving his hips into hers. The way her soft body yielded to him was incredible; like nothing else._

_Slowly, he wrapped his fingers around both of her wrists, enjoying this control, pressing her more firmly into the bed._

"_Edward..." she whined, actively squirming. "I can't stand being pinned."_

_He laughed. "Too bad. Give me the picture or I'm not letting you up."_

_She sighed and stilled, giving up then, the photograph slipping from her fingers and landing on the bed. He was victorious._

"_Thank you," he smiled, kissing her pouting mouth._

"_You're not taking it to work," she reminded him._

"_I'll do what I want," he chuckled. "It's mine now."_

_Snatching the photograph from the comforter, he kissed her throat again, relaxing her now, more focused on the way she felt underneath him. In her struggle, her shirt had slipped higher, her bare skin pressing warm and taut against his own. When she whispered his name, trailing her hands lovingly down his face, the photograph was forgotten, their groans and moans the only sounds in the empty bedroom. That night, in their new home scattered with unpacked boxes and bubble wrap, Edward made love to Bella. On their bed._

He had forgotten the photograph that night, finding it under the bed the morning after she didn't come home to him. Now, he would never let it go.

"It was our room... our bed. We..." he tried, the memory of her laugh crushing his chest with slashing sadness. Shaking his head to both forget and remember, he recalled the playful staccato of her joy, again and again, praying it was a sound he would hear once more.

Regret arrived like clockwork, not diminished by repetition. He should've told her how beautiful she was, how happy she made him, how every morning since their first he had thought of nothing but her. He hated that so much had gone unsaid, that so many times he had fought for words, to tell her what she meant. And now that she was gone, all that he felt and saw seemed to be cut with sorrow. The deepest pain. The fear and understanding of lost chances, never to be repeated.

"Edward... it's going to be all right," the familiar voice reassured. _Lies_, he thought. _Lies and empty promises._

The sedatives he fought agains brought on a wave of sleepiness, but he held his eyes open, staring into the abyss of her dark gaze in the photograph.

_Come back to me, Bella,_ he pleaded silently, praying again that someone was listening.

_Wherever she was, was someone was pinning her down?_ he feared, picturing it. Those horrible thoughts ripped through Edward anew, the small cry he released at the thought of her dead a feeble response to unimaginable horror.

Soon enough, sullen tears fell from his tired eyes, the kind of tears that sapped the soul. Staring at her face, he touched her photographic smile, his anguish and fear for her, his love for her, his agony over the unknown stabbing deeper than he could bear.

And for the thousandth time, he wanted to ask more questions, to think harder about what he knew, what he needed to know.

To recite again her schedule, their last conversation, her plans for the evening before meeting for dinner.

To just fucking _do_ something. Anything to bring her back.

But this time, he didn't. Couldn't. There was no alchemy, no abracadabra incantation that would magically return her to him.

Confusion and grief were on the tip of his tongue, unable to find purchase in words too small for his unfathomable pain.

The lack of sleep, the medication, all of it only made him worse, and when his sister's hand touched the clammy skin of his neck, he broke. With his head crumpled into his hands, the morbid horrors of his worst nightmares emerged, and he truly cried for the first time since last Thursday, the night she vanished.

He sobbed, and hard, breathless and defeated, tormented by one recurring thought after another.

"Shh..." Alice tried in vain, wrapping her small arms around his much-larger frame.

Nothing she said mattered and deep loss washed over him, like a tidal wave breaking ground, weakening his resolve to stay awake, to stay downstairs to wait for Bella, to touch her face. But this time, he didn't resist Alice or pretend to be stronger than he was. He let her hold him.

"We'll find her, Edward."


	2. Chapter 2, Prompt: Inadequate

**I do not own Twilight.**

**Moved from Fictionista Workshop Daily WitFit to this story 12.19.09.**

**I sincerely apologize that this has taken so long! Novel edits take priority, but I have more to post when I can transfer from my ridiculous notebook!**

**Just to clarify, these are "drabbles" or entries based on word prompts inspired by Fictionista Workshop's Daily WitFit challenge, which encourages writers to write every single day with word prompts and no editing. These are supposed to be unconnected, but because a story idea came out of my head on this one, I am following it utilizing the remaining prompts as best I can. It will be short and undeveloped, but hopefully fun for us both! So... thanks to your encouragement, this is a continuation of the prompt "Chapter 1: Abracadabra". Please read it first or this won't make sense. :) See any typos, please let me know! Especially you, UA. ;)**

**This prompt was for 12.13.09's prompt word was "inadequate". You can read more entries by replacing the {dot} with a real . here: http://bit{dot}ly/58cK2M**

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Her gift for premonition was a secret, an ignored flaw that had embarrassed Alice since she realized she was different. Throughout her youth, she fought against the invasion of the future, grasping at _now_ for dear life, refusing the images entry. For her entire adulthood, she'd successfully accomplished this, blinding her mind's eye with immediate distractions when visions pursued: a clicking pen, chores, cooking, cleaning or shopping. Anything to stop seeing…

It worked. Alice blinded her mind through sheer determination; she had not seen since the vision that changed her life left her hospitalized and parentless at the age of fourteen.

Until now, she believed the slow death of her gift was a blessing, an accomplishment in the darkest sense as it silenced the evil that found traffic in her mind…

Alice dipped the tea bag in the hot water again, watching the clear liquid darken as she slowly closed her eyes.

At first, she got nothing.

And then nothing again until gradually an image of her hand moving above the cup appeared. With her eyes still closed, she could trace the white ceramic outline of the mug against the black marble of Bella's desk, seeing little flecks of gold and silver.

This was progress. Smiling to herself, the same sense of achievement that once swelled her chest and heart when feeling her gift fade emerged once more, this time in response to her success. Her mind was getting stronger.

Shifting her sight inch by inch, she travelled from the cup to the edge of the box of Bella's tea, all the way to a brown frame on the desk. She could hardly detect the wooden outline at first, the adjustment in her vision blurring the details. The picture was only a mosaic; blurred, confusing fragments of a whole picture.

But she knew the object: a frame with a photograph of Edward and Bella on their Caribbean vacation. Bella wore white shorts, her dark, windswept hair adorned with a pink flower. Both Bella and Alice's brother, Edward, were covered in sand from the knees down as the sunset washed the picture with color.

Alice loved this photograph. Edward had never looked happier; Bella had never been more beautiful.

Briefly crushed by a snippet of despair, she pushed that feeling away, focusing harder, knowing without a doubt there was a reason for this resurrected talent. She was meant to find Bella before it was too late and there was no time for tears or fear. Only faith. She would do this; there was no option for failure and when Alice wasn't tending to her brother, she was practicing in Bella's office with things her friend had touched all day.

Determination surged through Alice again at the thought of Bella in pain, remembering the image she had seen last night. After leading her drugged brother to bed and wiping his tears with her own shirt, she had come in here to sit amongst Bella's things and to cry. After thumbing through unimportant papers for a while, sadness overtook Alice and she reached out to her husband, Jasper.

When he had answered the telephone, distressed and worried over her, she explained she was running late, but he wanted to talk and so she sat. Jasper had a way of making Alice feel better, and she listened to his reassurance with tear-stained eyes, fingering Bella's discarded gum wrapper and favorite pen. Eventually, Jasper succeeded in making her laugh a little with jokes about his brother Emmett's attempt to build a porch in his backyard and she felt slightly better.

Exhausted and desperately fearful for her friend, Alice rose to leave, understanding that hope lay in waiting and trusting the investigators.

But when her fingers casually touched the back of Bella's chair, horror flashed behind her eyes.

"_Please…" Bella pleaded. Her hair was in her face. There was loud classical music and voices down a narrow hallway. Bella trembled, visibly terrified, stretching her uncuffed hand to the other. Her wrist was purple and swollen. Injured._

Confused and shocked, Alice had gasped in horror, giving a strangled cry before backing away from the chair.

The image was seared into her mind, instantly reversing years of denial and self-conditioning.

That was two days ago. Since then she'd been in the office alone, secretly touching Bella's things, upset that the chair brought no additional premonitions, but desperate to try. Alice only left to get Edward into bed, rationalizing her guilt by affirming her commitment to her secret mission. He wouldn't speak to her anyway, and it wasn't like she could tell him either, or anyone for that matter.

None of that mattered to Alice anyway. Bella was in danger, but she could save her. And she would.

Something was changing in their lives; something was moving and she could feel it, though she couldn't see it. Yet.

Breathing deeply through clenched teeth, Alice moved slowly to the cup and then to the tea box, watching her fingernail trace the ornate label. Eventually, the scattered fog of her mind coalesced, allowing her to follow instinct.

And then, for so much longer than she would ever have imagined possible, she _had it_. A cascade of images flitted through her mind, blurring the very edges of her vision while the rest remained focused, bringing her actions into mind a split second before they happened.

Tracing diligently, the first word on the box was complete, each little edge and loop precisely outlined.

But then it was dark and the mosaic returned. _Damn_, she cursed herself inwardly for losing the vision. There was always this afternoon. After the investigators left in a few hours, she could get Edward's lunch and medication, allow him his time to pace in his office and retreat to this place.

Opening her eyes, she glanced at the clock. It was 7:00 am and the detectives would be there soon. Edward would want to be awake when they arrived, so she gave up for now.

Breathing deeply, she resumed her practice, walking to the stairs with the hot cup of Bella's favorite tea, resolute for what had just happened and what was still to come, seeing the steps in her mind before taking them.

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"_When did you know?" she asked, chewing on a cherry stem, teasing him in more ways than one. Her breasts were nearly touching his chest, his hand tracing circles on her back._

"_I don't know," he lied, searching for words that weren't inadequate and ridiculous._

"_I knew when I loved you…" she countered, her eyes shaming him with absolution. "It was the Sunday we had coffee. You got out of your car in a rush, but a little old lady beat you to the door. You smiled and opened it, and even made small talk until she ordered."_

_Bella laughed at the memory fondly, but Edward stared at her in confusion, remembering that afternoon. For first-love epiphanies, that had to be lame. He didn't even know she'd arrived twenty minutes early, or that she was waiting there in the crowd, watching. And to make matters worse, he wasn't positive he loved her until weeks later. _

"_That was the first moment you knew you loved me?" he confirmed. _

_She nodded. "Pretty much. Before we even drank our coffee, I was yours."_

"_Of all the times we shared, that's when you knew?" _

"_It's different for women," she shrugged._

_Again with her veiled feminism, he thought. "How so?"_

"_We just know. It's like… a premonition." _

"_An instinct?" he clarified, trying to understand. If that was what she was saying, then it made sense, but also disproved her theory. Men felt instinctual urges. With the way her shirt exposed her cleavage, he was fighting the instinct to have her right then._

"_No. It's…" she started thoughtfully. "Have you ever had déjà vu?" _

"_Yes." _

"_It's like that. Like… the world just stopped for a second and skipped a beat and hit a target all at once… it's indefinable, but certain at the same time."_

_He liked that explanation. Now that he thought about it, that was exactly what it felt like. She was so smart. _

"_Men feel that, too," he said._

"_Not like we do," she murmured, making designs on the stem with her teeth. He wanted to tell her what he felt right then, that she was always so soft and smelled like flowers. That he loved her and wanted her to be his wife one day._

_Twirling the red stem in circles around her finger, she said no more, as if her last remark had ended the discussion. Usually, he would not have let her win so easily, but he wasn't sure he wanted to be difficult this time. If she believed she had loved him first, why argue? Smiling, he decided no debate was in order. _

"_Hmm…" he rumbled in her ear, sliding the inside of his knee over her thigh. "Maybe I should show you what men feel," he teased, his nose now pressed against her neck, his erection automatic. _

"_I know what you feel," she said, breathy and already excited. _

"_Do you?" he wondered, kissing to her jaw, his fingers meeting the line of her bra. She moaned as his hands cupped her breast, the warmth of her skin radiating through her thin blouse._

"_Yes… it was our fifth date… when the waiter dropped that plate on our table and all over my dress and I laughed…" she whispered._

_His mouth stopped and so did his hand, recalling that moment. She had apologized for bumping the waiter, though it was the waiter's fault. Embarrassment had colored her face, but she'd smiled before laughing at herself._

_That was the night he slipped that dress from her shoulders, the night she let him make love to her. And she was right._

*

"Edward?"

He heard a whisper that wasn't Bella's.

"It's time to get up..." Silently, he opened his eyes, coming face-to-face with his worried sister. She looked older than she had yesterday and he was sure he did too; neither had slept much since Thursday.

He didn't want to rise. Truly, he didn't. But he would.

Forcing his body off the bed, fatigue and hollow fear weighed him down, but he used his arms to shift upright. Dizzy and empty, he felt as if he could die. He wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and forget everything but her, but he wouldn't do that. Couldn't.

"What time is it?" he asked, knowing it was early morning.

"They'll be here soon," Alice said, handing him tea he ignored. He desperately wanted to see the detectives and hoped they'd have a lead today. Something, anything to work from.

"Are they still outside?" he asked, hoping the media had left last night, already knowing that wasn't the case.

"Yes," she answered, pulling his legs from the bed, helping him to sit and put his feet on the floor. He groaned, feeling the rage at their intrusion bubbling under the surface. More than anything, he wished he could take a shot at their cameras and take a few reporters with him.

"If you'd just talk, they'd probably leave," she whispered, her still-outstretched hand in his peripheral vision.

_How could she say that?_ He thought, burning with frustration.

"Talk?" he croaked, rubbing his face furiously, imagining the attempt once more. He had stood in front of those cameras on Sunday so they would leave; breaking down after the first stranger said her name. They'd already gotten enough from him and until they gave him either privacy or Bella, they would get no more.

"Don't get upset; try to think of it in a good way. The longer they're here, the more people will look for her, and the sooner she'll come home."

He sighed, seeing her logic, but hating it nonetheless. Alice took a seat next to him, softly adjusting the bed with her light weight.

"I brought you tea. Bella's favorite."

He glanced at the cup, seeing the swirling steam, smelling the berry scented flavor that reminded him of her. Now that she was gone, Edward would never forget that shopping trip from just a few weeks ago:

"_Get that one!" she insisted. _

_Edward rolled his eyes. "There's no difference between the generic and the brand," he argued, holding the box of 200 bags for the same price. "You're paying two dollars for a pretty box?"_

"_I like my type, you like yours."_

"_You like expensive things," he teased her, though money was far from an issue. More than anything, he wanted to get a rise out of her._

"_You're cheap," she stated. He opened his mouth to retort, but shut it because she was moving, slithering in front of him, breaking his grip on the handle of the shopping cart. "I want that tea and it's only two dollars more. You can't spend an extra two dollars on me?" she asked, her big brown eyes overly dramatic. "If not, I can go out to the car and get my purse."_

_He wasn't even sure why they were arguing anymore. Of course he would buy it for her. _

"_You can have whatever you want," he said, mesmerized by how red her lips looked in the bright, fluorescent lights, bending to kiss her now that she was so close. His lips met hers and she replied with her tongue, his step forward bringing their bodies together. He groaned, pressing his sudden erection against her hip. _

_The sound of a throat clearing interrupted them and they turned, seeing an old woman frowning in the aisle._

"She did like it," Edward agreed, saddened again, realizing how childish he sounded.

He didn't care, though. Finally taking the cup, he sipped the hot liquid, swearing to God that if today were the day she came home, he would be forever grateful.

As he drank away the tension in his throat, emotion threatened tears over the opposite possibility. But before he could think on it further, his sister practically read his mind.

"We'll find her, Edward."

He nodded, pushing aside fears of the unfathomable alternative, knowing they were too much to even consider while sober. Jumping off the bed, he felt Alice's arms fall away, not realizing she'd been hugging him before then.

Her heart sank as he crossed the room, checking immediately for his phone. Edward had a feeling Bella would call and kept it in his pocket obsessively when it wasn't on the charger, along with a picture of Bella he couldn't be parted from.

The look on his face told her there was nothing there and without a word, he headed to the shower, phone in hand.

The instant he was gone she closed her eyes, feeling the energy in the room change with his departure.

Focusing, she searched, trying to determine if his attachment meant something, if somehow he knew she would call.

But Alice got nothing.

*

Detective Norris patiently navigated the Cullen driveway, passing the hedgerows and four frantic reporters, groggy but ready to question.

"Detective! Detective!" the fat one shouted half-heartedly, the other three letting her continue. "Any news on the whereabouts of Bella Swan? Has the FBI discovered anything new?"

_Discovered anything new. _The evil man inside wanted to grin, but he didn't. Instead, he ignored them and pressed the entry button at the gate. The reporter gave up, apparently considering it too early to badger.

Patiently he waited, irritated but thankful he had been assigned to this case. It was a stroke of luck beyond his wildest expectations; an exhilarating, bizarre set of events he'd still not fully processed. When they had originally devised their plan, he had intended to use his position with the bureau to monitor the progress of the investigation, to simply ensure they never got too close. Now he was presiding over a case for a missing woman who was currently bound and held captive by their design and ransom.

Without a word from the small speaker, the gate opened. He knew it was Mr. Cullen waiting for him, watching him enter, hoping he would have news. He would have none today, though. What a pity.

Sometimes he felt sorry for Cullen, but even that compassion was dried up, checked in the face of his hate. Besides, he told himself, even _he_ didn't know the fate of the rich man's lover. Everything depended on how the plan proceeded.

So as he did every morning since Thursday, the detective crossed the lawn to the doorway, recalling the inspiration for their revenge.

_With full lips and tears streaming down her face, Victoria Matthews was beautiful even in shock; a tragic masterpiece of pain. Still clutching her father's handkerchief though it was splattered with his blood._

_Her father, a 62-year old executive with a retirement ahead of him and a loving family had splattered his brains across his bookcase._

"_What happened, Mrs. Matthews?" Detective Norris pressed patiently, his rarely felt sympathy urging him to touch her. _

"_Edward Cullen happened," she suddenly snapped, the spark of rage in her dead eyes so startling that he blinked._

Swallowing hard, Detective Norris hit the cobblestone pavement, heading up to the mansion with a skip in his step. _Bring on the begging, Mr. Cullen_, he thought. _You fucking deserve it all._

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**I told you it ran away with itself! The outline is short, so I promise I'll finish this, but it will be really raw. Sadly, with no time to edit, the usual layers of revisions are removed and therefore so is the characterization and emotion. I hope you like it, though since I left you hanging! Thanks so much to each and every one of you for reviewing! You're all the best ever!**


	3. Chapter 3, Prompt: Sea Salt

**I do not own Twilight.**

**Happy Friday! So, as you can tell, I moved this over to a story because it was really confusing for some of you, so I apologize for that. I had no idea this would be a short story and honestly wouldn't have continued without reviewer PM's and encouragement. I have more small updates for the WitFit challenge in my notebook, but transcribing them in slow going, so I'll be updating the prompts not applicable to this storyline over there. I know, my head is spinning too!**

**Anyhow, to clarify again, this third chapter is simply part of Fictionista Workshops Daily WitFit prompt for 12.14.09. The prompt word was "sea salt".**

**WARNING: THIS IS RATED M. CONTAINS SUGGESTIONS OF VIOLENCE.**

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"Detective Norris," Edward breathed in relief, a ghost of a smile on his face. Shaking hands vigorously, both men searched each other's expressions. "Anything new?"

The question was asked, though the answer was obvious. Edward's heart ached.

_Anything new._ Detective Norris reigned in his inner devil, stepping through the doorway of Edward Cullen's office, his heels thudding on the plush carpet. "No, sir. I'm sorry–"

"Do you think it's time to–" Edward began, cut off by Norris' hand.

"Bringing in external investigators at this point will only complicate the investigation. We have it under control, Mr. Cullen," he said, knowing his intentions. "The best thing for you to do is remain here and let us do our jobs."

Your helicopters and cadaver dogs will find nothing. Save your precious money, Detective Norris mocked internally.

Edward knew what the detective said was true, but frowned and crossed the room anyway, headed for the bay window he'd taken to staring out of. Detective Norris followed behind slightly, watching the man's shoulders heave with a silent sigh.

Soon, Edward was lost in thought as Detective Norris observed him, both men now staring into the abysmal forest at the property edge. With his hand on his forehead and his back turned, Edward fought the urge to scream in frustration, the inclination rising like bile in his throat. _Remain here._ Always the answer he never wanted to hear.

He wanted to let them do their jobs, but Edward had a feeling they were missing something. The dogs had tracked Bella's scent to the tree line before losing her, motorcycle tracks leading north to the highway six miles in. Where had they taken her? Where was she?

As Norris watched, Edward's thoughts wandered to his obsession: was she out there in his forest? Dead and buried right in his backyard? No… he knew that wasn't true. She was still alive. He could feel it, he told himself. Partly because he believed he did and partly because the crushing horror of that question was impossible to bear, the idea forcing breath from his chest, this time in an exhalation Norris could hear.

Several seconds of additional silence passed, the heavy quiet of two men thinking. It was moments like these that Norris felt a little sorry for Cullen. But again, there was a part of him that enjoyed the control play. He'd rendered one of the most powerful businessmen in the state completely… powerless. The detective was enjoying the other man's discomposure.

"I know this is hard for you," he said falsely, breaking the silence, taking one step toward Edward, who remained still as a stone while he peered with dead eyes into the trees. "Please trust that we're doing everything in our power to find her."

Edward nodded, again knowing that was true. Both detectives leading the case had excellent credentials; he'd verified them for himself. Detective Norris seemed the detached type, but he was reassuring and professional, while his partner Detective Hale struck Edward as a no-nonsense investigator. All things considered, he was thankful for them both.

Remembering Detective Hale reminded Edward of her absence.

"Where's your partner?" Edward asked vacantly.

Detective Norris' stomach clenched, thinking of his new partner. He hated her almost as much as he disliked Mr. Cullen.

"She's analyzing the tapes from your security cameras."

"Oh…" Edward sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets, still dazed, recalling their last dinner together though nothing encouraged that memory. It made him feel good. Having lost his parents so early and with Alice being so much younger, Edward had never had the experience of watching a woman cook for him, or take care of him. But Bella did both, and enthusiastically, because she enjoyed it. She had been in the kitchen preparing their meal for nearly an hour while he'd wrapped up his workday. The domestic scene tugged at a place deep inside of him.

"_Why are you using this salt?" Edward asked, curious._

"_What do you mean?"_

"_The granules are huge," Edward noted, shaking the bottle._

"_It's sea salt."_

"_I can read that," he replied, glancing between her stern concentration and the bottle. She was stirring the spaghetti sauce with vigor, the red liquid bubbling._

"_I prefer to cook with that," she answered. He liked that she had a system and ingredient preferences, even if he teased her about them._

_He smiled, though her determination to stir blinded her to his amusement. He had promised himself in that moment that one day, this kitchen would hers._

With a deep breath, regret hit him hard again and once more he wished he'd mustered the fucking courage, the tenacity to just ask her. He'd had the ring for so long, but the fear of her hesitation or worse… acquiescence out of guilt had kept him silent. They had been dating for only six months.

"Mr. Cullen…" Detective Norris began, drawing Edward's attention back to their previous conversation. "My visit today was to touch base, but also to inform you that tonight there will be several hundred volunteers and police officials combing your property again. The temptation to leave your home and assist will be overwhelming, but I need your word that you'll remain inside."

Edward nodded blankly, tracing the tree line from the window again, picturing the evil thieves in his mind, wondering how they'd done it. Detectives Hale and Norris believed Edward's house was invaded by the perpetrator, stealing Bella away as she typed at her desk. Her shoes still lay underneath, the crooked mousepad the only indication of a struggle.

She was taken quickly, out of his very house, out of the office she had just settled into.

Suddenly, Norris' phone rang, startling both men from their exchange. Edward glanced once at Norris' apologetic expression before returning to his fixation.

"Excuse me. It's Detective Hale."

Edward didn't respond, his thoughts returning to that same mix of worry and faith, to more memories of moments now lost to the past.

Excusing himself, Norris quietly left the room, shutting the door softly behind him. Irritated now, he flipped open his phone.

"Norris."

"James, I have something here you need to see," Detective Hale said urgently, sounding mesmerized. Norris' stomach dropped again.

"Can it wait?" he asked, testing.

"No. It can't."

*

The blindfold was disorienting, but she had grown accustomed to it by now. And she didn't dare remove it, having tried once only to be observed by the woman. The screeching, evil harpy had screamed at her, cutting her arm with what felt like a small incision as punishment. They had cameras on her and it wasn't worth it.

Besides she could sense the woman moving and watching her, the terrifying understanding that a predator was near so profound she shivered from mortal danger. And once again, Bella wondered what the woman looked like. Why she was doing this. She knew they were after Edward, but why?

"I know your type," said the woman, smirking as she swiveled quickly in the chair Bella had felt with her foot. The motion, the fear, the anxiety of the woman's erratic movement made Bella tremble again. She was so cold, so scared. "You grew up poor. Working class. Married money to feel worthy of… whatever it is bitches like you feel worthy of. I used to taunt girls like you. I bet you were fat and ugly until your twenties, too."

Bella didn't respond, nor did she dare to correct the juvenile woman's wrong assumptions. Bella had never been fat or poor, though she'd never had money like Edward. She had worked hard for what she had, her profession chosen because she loved to teach, that passion trumping any vanity or desire for material goods.

"Fucking speak!" the woman barked, grabbing Bella's tangled hair with sharp claws that made her yelp. Holding Bella's head stationary, Victoria moved closer, smelling now, wondering if she should bathe her. That would be wild, she considered, imagining the silent woman trembling and naked. She would hose her down like a dog and take a picture for Edward Cullen, one she could send from the satellite phone once contact was made. Once the real fun had begun.

Victoria stared at Bella's upturned face curiously, wickedly relishing her revenge as Bella's mouth opened wider in fear, like a gaping fish out of water. Smiling, Victoria laughed at the helpless girl she would kill once she had her money, once her robbed estate had been avenged. She decided Bella should know, to begin preparing for the inevitable.

"I'll kill you," Victoria stated, a streak of childish, sadistic pleasure passing through her at the sight of Bella's further trembling lip. Fear surged through Bella, adrenaline spiking her heartbeat, the primal urge to flee danger making her captivity more painful. "Mr. White is a bit of a pussy. You wouldn't know it with the badge and the gun and the giant cock, but he is… I'll have to do it myself. And I will."

Before she could fear for her life, for the promise of death, the woman was touching Bella, running her sharp fingernail down Bella's face, tightening her grip on Bella's hair. Again, Bella tried to swallow, her throat sandpaper dry, the scratching sensation somehow suffocating.

"I bet he liked fucking you," the evil woman decided, petting Bella like a dog now, long fingers roaming. "I've seen him in his little power suit, so clearly compensating. I went to Yale with little boys like him. Playing big boy to get the trophy whore. The question is…" she continued, her grip not lessening, her finger trailing to Bella's collarbone now, poking strangely at the indentation. "Did _you_ like fucking _him_? Or did you pretend, like most of us do…"

The woman's question inspired automatic, sweet memories of Edward making love to Bella, touching her the way he always did. The pit of her stomach ached for him, for what he must be going through. The worry, the terror. And only once was their lovemaking what one could consider _fucking_...

"_Bella," he gasped, the grip on her wrists tightening._

"_Yes…" she moaned, feeling him move faster, giving into her request, pressing her back against the wooden porch. The blanket from the house wasn't under her anymore, only padding his knees from the brutal wood. She loved it, loved feeling the contrast; his soft, but firm body locking her against the hard surface. The pleasure and heat of him filling her took over, the tension in his arms increasing, straining with the task of giving her more._

"_I love you," he whispered, moving faster with his own admission, their hips smacking, and skin glistening. She groaned, the delicious satisfaction of his raw lust and subsequent determination sexier than anything she'd ever seen._

"_I love you," she managed, tightening her grip on his strong shoulders, feeling beautiful, feeling powerful. Her strong man, the quiet, loving man she wanted to marry was losing himself in her body. Losing himself to her touch._

_He moaned in response, his gradual increase in tempo so erotically perfect she struggled to breathe. Ducking his head down to her neck, she caught a glimpse of his face in pure, unrivaled ecstasy. More and more, he was letting go of his restraint, his eyes clenched tight, his full mouth whispering her name once more. Like a prayer._

"_Bella…"_

Clenching her eyes tighter to fight back tears, behind the blindfold she remembered that moment like it was yesterday, that one memory inspiring several more. Like vague hallucinations, moments of their time together pushed in and out, blurred and fleeting, painful and desperate. Bella wondered if she might be going crazy, if the deprivation of food and water were warping her mind. Increasingly, her imagination had grown into something else entirely.

"Answer me!" the woman demanded through gritted teeth. Bella felt the woman's hot breath on her cheek, but refused to comply, her composure faltering for just a moment before recovering. She would never answer, not because she was scared, but because there were no words. Even she had never understood why he loved her the way he did, why he wanted her exclusively. And the way he shook from quiet passion while moving inside of her, the way he cradled her head and stuttered shallow breaths in her ear when they made love—those pieces of him were hers only. Sacred memories.

Love for him swelled her heart then, threatening to break her open, so sharp and boundless she could hardly bear it. Bella shuddered as the woman sighed in resignation, dropping her grip with an annoyed groan. A few indefinable noises later, the woman was suddenly far away again.

Behind the dark cloth, a tear slipped from Bella's covered eyes, absorbed by the material.

"I have ways of making you talk. We're just not there yet." The woman promised, the door audibly opening and slamming shut without another word. Once more, Bella was left cuffed and bound to a pole in a dank room that smelled of mold and stagnant water.

Like clockwork, the strains of Beethoven began once more; frantic strings a dark opening to the Fifth Symphony she knew all too well now.

Pressing her eyelids together to maintain her strength, she was thankful for the mask now, thankful her love or despair were private. Because deep down, Bella knew she would never feel Edward again.

* * *

**This was really dark, but I hope you liked this glimpse into the psychopathic jilted sorority girl that is Victoria. She's wicked in all the wrong ways, much like her canon companion. I just kept thinking of the actress that played her character speaking so hatefully, like a disassociated villain on a mission to taunt and retaliate.**


	4. Chapter 4, Prompt: Penelope

**I do not own Twilight.**

**Hi All. Here is the entry for Fictionista Workshops Daily WitFit 12.15.09. The prompt word was "Penelope". This is also chapter 4 of Hope May Vanish. I wrote this in 3 hours yesterday after a long morning of editing. I hope you enjoy.**

* * *

Detective Hale's reputation was renowned, and none of it was hype. Provided with a team of investigators, she had already outshone the more-senior Norris.

Not that he cared. This was his second case in their department; she was a veteran facing another promotion. After he got his money and fled to anonymity of the third world, she would still be here, hunting in shoes too expensive for her salary.

He respected her though and understood, having heard the story: Hale was a cold fish because of tragedy. Her sister had been kidnapped and murdered at the age of fifteen.

His eye was on her, too. An obsession hadn't grown yet, but she was more dedicated than he was to the Swan case, sleeping at her desk, directing the team aggressively and interviewing every last friend on Bella Swan's Facebook account.

And now this. She had sat up all night watching these tapes, unblinking, unmoving. Hours and hours of footage of shrubbery and wind, and then this...

"That's the tip of an assault rifle barrel. AR-15," she pointed out, straddling the seat to stare at the gun barrel just barely flashing onto the screen.

The excitement of her breakthrough was an energy he could sense. An energy that made his hair stand on end. James swallowed, his breath quickening with veiled panic, a random phone ringing from their busy tip center making him jump. A two-second blip that proved there was more than one suspect—how had that happened?

"I thought there was only one suspect?" James stated the obvious.

"So did I," Detective Hale zoomed into the picture. "But that brief flash proves we're talking at least two or more. A perp wouldn't wait in broad daylight unless the operation was professional. Unless they were confident in their skills. This might be a ransom."

Detective Hale said those last words in a near whisper, but Norris wasn't listening anymore. Fear slowed his breathing to a shallow rhythm, wondering which of Victoria's idiots he should kill first. Though they'd proceeded with the abduction ahead of schedule, everyone knew to avoid the cameras. This piece of evidence was major; it changed things. They would adjust their strategy to searching criminals known for working in groups.

*

She was a daddy's girl, but only from a distance. Dollars were hugs in the Matthews household and she knew no other way of life. Heavily medicated since the age of sixteen and narcissistic as they came, her life revolved around getting her way and keeping it.

Depression and suicide were inherited, but she told herself she'd never go out like that. The world was meant to be conquered. She didn't always win each match, but somehow knew she'd win the game. This was all in her head of course—megalomania and borderline personality disorder. Therapists also blamed her mother's early death. Claudia Matthews, society beauty who married a tycoon, had swallowed a bottle of Valium at the age of twenty-six, leaving Victoria to raise herself.

Victoria's father was his own man, living and breathing corporate conquest. Their toxic relationship was based only on superficial exchanges: cars, clothes, trips, houses. That they led a charmed life was an understatement.

Of course, these things had not come free. Daddy was happy if Victoria stayed out of trouble, and so she did—as far as he knew. On paper she was an exceptional student, the intelligence and cunning wit she now used for sinister purposes having once earned her marks of excellence at Yale. A sorority girl out to enjoy life, she graduated with a veneer of pharmaceutical excess coating her nose.

She had never expected it to end, but everything changed when her father promoted Edward Cullen to Vice President of Sales for M Corporation, then a second-tier brokerage he'd spent his life building. Cullen, the young business natural whom she saw three times a year at corporate functions became the son her father never had. Cullen had no parents of his own and even her stepmother had dubbed him the heir apparent.

Everyone knew he was as ambitious as her father, but no one expected him to do what he did: pulling multi-million dollar contracts out of the sky after elevated, as if he'd been saving them until he ascended. Youth outshone wisdom, and once the fourth deal went through, her father began to lose it.

Everything sped downhill from there. Leaked to the press, rumors swirled about her father taking bribes. Once the whispering began, murmurs started, charges of corruption emerging one after another, each one with evidence only a man like Cullen would have. An investigation showed the claims to be legitimate: millions had been spent on deals that were presented in a drastically different way on paper. After taking hits in the national media, her father was forced out by the board. They turned on him, replacing him with Cullen almost overnight.

When her father resigned "to spend more time with family", the hits continued and never before had she seen a man so broken. A barrage of dirty secrets spread on the Internet and were covered on the nightly news as scandal trumpeted a lifetime of sins from women and cocaine to government bribes. The reports shattered the old man. Once again, Victoria Matthews discovered a parent dead by their own hand, without the comfort of even a note.

Meanwhile, Cullen managed six major land deals in his first year as CEO, sweeping the real-estate industry by storm, tripling the size of the company her father had built.

And it was after her father's death that she discovered through family rumors that Cullen had spread her father's secrets behind the scenes, betraying bribes that made the company successful for his own ambition. According to her stepmother and uncles, her father was usurped and betrayed by his protégé.

With great, irrational conviction, she now believed that her fortune was stolen by Cullen and his subordinate Laurent, though the latter man had seen the light. As partner in the land deals, Laurent had made his fortune on the back of her father's work, too. Only when confronted with photographs of fucking his secretary Joshua on the corporate conference table did he cave in to persuasion. His fractional deposit of $4M to her Swiss account was enough to arrange the kidnapping of Cullen's girl, secure their safe house overseas and give them a decade's worth of wiggle room.

Cullen had his chance, too—a fact she reminded herself of after those rare glimmers of guilt. After weeks of watching his squeaky-clean life with his little brunette princess, she had met him for coffee to test him, to see if he could be pressed or seduced. Cullen shut her down in both ways, withdrawing his hand from hers over the table, infuriating her though she never let him see it. She smiled and thanked him for deigning to see her, the bereft, grieved daughter of a man who had been as a father to him.

The joke would be on Cullen, she reminded herself. Once the ransom note was dropped, she'd toy with the girl until he paid up, then kill her and flee. She and James would leave and never look back.

And James would come with her willingly, both because he was crucial to the plan and wrapped around her finger, so there was no sense in being choosy. She'd never marry her lifestyle equivalent anyway; everyone in her social circle knew she was crazy.

She stared at the newspaper headline again, irrational jealousy boiling in her chest. Given that Edward Cullen was a prominent businessman, they had expected media attention, but not on this scale. It just so happened that out of the 2,300 people that disappeared every day, the press wanted to sensationalize this woman. The picture they had chosen made the girl seem prettier than she was, Victoria thought, annoyed by the portrayal of her plain features. It gratified her to calculate how she would humiliate the girl. She might even spread the hostage photos to the Internet for maximum exposure.

Glancing at the clock, Victoria noted the time again, wishing James would hurry. It was so late, and he had no reason to be out. She hated waiting and didn't trust his beautiful partner. Seeing the woman once was enough. Long legs and pinned blond hair sounded the alarms of jealousy. Victoria didn't like her.

There was nothing left to do but _wait_ now, so she leaned back on the cushion, feeling the ache in her muscles.

Right as Victoria began to nod off, the door finally opened and she startled, hearing his shoes on the wooden floor. In a few steps, she was off the couch and in his face. He looked tired and weary, but she didn't care.

"Where have you been?" she demanded, her temper flaring instantly.

Annoyed, he inclined his head, removing his jacket and holster in silence. And then his watch and shoes. He was ignoring her.

"I asked you a question," Victoria repeated. "Where in the fuck have you been?"

"You know where I've been," James replied, warning her not to cross the line.

"You said the search would be over at 11:00. It's 1:00 in the morning," she countered.

James gritted his teeth, tired of interrogation every time he arrived. He seethed inwardly at her choice of this old house for their hideout. They were in this situation because of her hasty actions; had Victoria and the boys not gotten coked and riled, acting on the abduction without his go-ahead, they would have Swan in the downtown warehouse that was currently being closed off. Furthermore, he had reason to be angry at her, not the other way around. Her trusted idiots had compromised them, though he wouldn't share that yet. He wanted a peaceful sleep, and that news would change everything. There was no rush.

"You wanted to keep her here," James reminded her, remaining calm in the face of her strong stance. Deciding to get a beer, James maneuvered forward as he would have had she not been fuming there.

Victoria rounded behind him, walking a few steps ahead, blocking the refrigerator with her hand. His grip on the handle was solid, and each of them held their ground.

"Are you fucking her?" Victoria spat.

"Who?"

"Ha!" she laughed maniacally, throwing her other hand in the air, getting really worked up now. "Penelope..."

James stared, dead and cold. "Her name is Rosalie. Or Detective Hale. And are you fucking stupid? I'm writing a rap sheet of my own for you. Is that not enough?"

She searched his eyes, unable to detect anything, feeling the sting of his insult. She wasn't stupid, just nervous and cautious. James was a smooth liar, just like her.

And Victoria had a list of retorts, but his fist was still on the refrigerator and she knew just how far to push. She had wanted to hear something nice like that, something loyal.

Her eyes softened manipulatively, dropping to the floor, the submissive pose sending blood to James' cock. Deep down, he knew she would kill even Detective Hale or any woman if he cheated. He had dreamed it once, seeing her stab a blank-faced victim repeatedly. He loved that this high-class woman, so far out of his league, wanted only him.

He also wanted to smile at her attempt to be demure, but dared not as she dropped her arm from the fridge to let him pass. As she swung her other arm around his neck, the action mirroring her changing mood, James stood in awe of her concoction of crazy.

He grabbed a beer, knowing she would want answers from him tonight.

"I'm sorry I was so nasty," she simpered as they sat on the old leather couch, her legs curling into his lap, face suddenly close to his. Her hands began to touch him, winding up his face and into his hair, the soft hands she so carefully manicured felt good on his skin. It had been so long since a woman had touched him that way. It was in moments like these that James felt the highest, with a beer and his lover in his arms. He sighed and closed his eyes.

"What?" Victoria asked eagerly. She'd been silently waiting for him to start over, to bridge their argument with the present.

He didn't want to share, though. Giving too much emotion away would give too much of himself. That would give her everything.

"Nothing," he said, taking a sip before kissing her nose. She didn't even argue, but instead kissed him back, winding her fingers in his blond hair then, pulling him to her.

They kissed and she moaned, the lonely hours spent pacing and worrying in the house leaving her ready to feel him.

After a few more intense kisses, she broke away.

"That was good," she complimented, licking her lips, relishing the taste of Coors on her tongue.

"Not so bad yourself," he whispered, touching her chin in the way she liked. James had learned that touching was key for her, too—having never been loved in that way by her mother or father, both of whom were now dead. He liked that they were equally fucked up.

She was so beautiful, he thought, wishing they were good people instead—the type that could live in suburbia on forty grand and pop out children. He wished that her power over him and his need to protect her were healthy. Those thoughts made him sad, but he traced her mouth gently, showing her without words that his feelings were strong, too.

"Thank you," she whispered, her fingers lulling him in return for a moment, sending chills down his spine.

Enjoying this brief relaxation before what was surely the storm of her questions, he lay into the couch and sighed again as Victoria continued to play with his hair.

"So..." she began after another minute. "What did the people say at the vigil and search?"

James laughed. "Cullen's losing it."

"How do you know he's not just grieving?"

"Laurent told me everything after visiting him just last night. Apparently, Cullen was inconsolably drunk, mumbling about suicide."

"Yes... but what the fuck does Laurent know? He's Cullen's partner and he's been useful, but he has plenty to gain. He tells us what he wants us to hear. The quicker we move, the quicker that can take place, and the quicker he can walk."

"I'm well aware of the plan, Vic..." he said, frowning at her attitude. "He's not rushing us," James said, knowing that's where the conversation was headed. "Like I said... Swan's father is a small-town cop who was on an annual wilderness trip when we snatched her. He got a flight and arrived at Cullen's today, and although he's small-time, she _is_ his daughter. It's best that we pace ourselves, let Cullen feel the full pressure. We drop ransom on Wednesday."

"Okay..." she whispered, satisfied by his reassurance. James was satisfied, too. Shutting Victoria up was no easy task, and he'd done it easily this time. The balance of control in their relationship was shifting.

"Not to be cruel, but the guy really needs to have some fucking dignity. He mopes around in a constant state of bitchiness," James said, changing the subject.

"I like it when you're cruel," Victoria breathed, steadily winding her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. "You have no idea how happy this makes me, to know you'll do anything for me. My father turned me away for _him_, and they both hurt me, but you're… you're playing him for me. Thank you…" she whispered, touching his face again. The moment her tongue swept his mouth, their tempo changed.

His chest swelled with pride, knowing she loved and revered him. No one ever had before.

"You handle Cullen so well, and I take care of the girl... we're the perfect team," she affirmed.

"I don't want to see her," James whispered against his lover's mouth. Victoria mocked him inwardly for his scruples.

"You never will. Alec and Felix are helping to move her when it's time. I have to get some supplies tomorrow, but they'll be there to watch her. We stick to our plan. Once the ransom is delivered, I begin. You watch and encourage. Slowly we drive him down." She giggled, the sound of a woman knowing her thoughts were crazed. She just didn't care. "I can't wait to escape with you. You're going to love the beaches in Bulgaria. We'll fuck all day…" she promised, slithering closer to him.

Again they kissed for a few moments, tasting the maniac in one another.

"Fuck yes, baby..." she cooed, feeling his hands tighten on her ass.

Soon, James was ripping off his pants as Victoria unbuttoned her blouse. And in seconds, evil control met evil instability as they went at it, fucking and claiming one another. But two floors below, in the fallout shelter Mr. Matthews built during the Cold War, the muffled sounds of Beethoven's Third Symphony were hardly discernible and Bella Swan dreamed of Edward's whispers for her to return.

*

This was why Edward Cullen rarely drank. He was a disaster waiting to crash, and he knew it. Staring at the ceiling in their bedroom, he clenched Bella's pillow to his face, wishing he had the strength to press harder until death overcame him. Never before had he been a suicidal man, but he knew that he would do it if she never came home. Quickly, but do it he would.

With a sigh, he absently set the glass of scotch on the edge of his dresser, wondering for the millionth time where Bella was. That thought never got old, like asking the meaning of life or whether creationism was true.

He was tired in more ways than one, the hope that she would come home soon dangling by barely a thread. Each day she was gone meant she was less likely to return.

Even her father knew that. The man he'd never met until then had shed a tear before excusing himself. And though Edward didn't know him at all yet, he knew that tear was for his daughter and the statistics that were against them.

His breathing was speeding, so he reined in his thoughts, deciding to have another drink before slipping into oblivion. Leaning up, Edward reached for his glass and gulped the remainder of the liquor. It burned, but at least he could _feel _something. When his head hit the pillow, he drank in her rapidly fading scent and dreamed, the sedatives lulling him to the only place he wanted to be.

_"You shouldn't drink so much," she giggled, completely drunk herself, wobbling up to straddle him, grinding against his thigh. "It makes you horny."_

_"You're seducing me!" Edward laughed breathlessly, feeling his blood rush for her, unbuttoning her shirt. She was right, though. Seeing her in this skirt all night, with her clicking heels and soft hair made him anxious to be inside. When she'd suggested they leave the event early, he'd agreed, though neither could wait to get home for a bed. He pushed_ _her breast to his mouth, sucking on her nipple to make her moan, her hips shifting into his when he teased her._

_"You like it," she pointed out, rubbing her fingertips along his clothed length. His gasp against her skin told her she had control, the realization obviously making her eager for more. He still couldn't believe how hot that was, loving that she was bold like that, but still playful and sweet. Bella was usually a shy woman, but not with him, he reminded himself with pride. She was so special, and all his..._

_Unexpectedly, indefinable gratitude and deep, tender possessiveness surged through Edward. Wrapping his arms tightly around her, Edward changed the atmosphere by hugging Bella close, preventing her hand from continuing. She adjusted to his sweet embrace, twining her arms around his neck, touching his hair now, recognizing the serious, emotional shift in his demeanor. _

_A few times they'd had a little too much to drink, the night ended with Edward coiled around her, clutching her as if she might float away. For him, this moment was cementing something. He wanted never to let her go._

_"I..." he started, resting his face against her collarbone, his brow furrowed in thought. There were so many words, and yet none of them seemed right._

_"Take your time, Edward," Bella offered quietly, sweetly. He didn't like that she felt the need to push him along. He wasn't some whiny jerk._

_"I'm fine; I was just thinking." _

_"I know." Her fingertips were soft against his stubble._

_It was then that Edward took a deep breath and opened his heart for a moment, flying off the cuff with a request he'd been considering for weeks._

_"I love you. You know that and... when I'm with you, my life is happy. When I'm not, I miss you."_

_Edward felt Bella's heart speed up, the thumping louder when he was __closer to the source. From his place at her shoulder, Bella's sweet smile at his words caught his attention, distracting him for a moment, shyness passing over his face before he continued. _

_"I want to be happy... and when your lease is up on your apartment, I think you should move in with me." _

_The words were out now, and his racing heart matched hers. Bella's eyes widened and her mouth opened in surprise, but not in a bad way. So he continued, watching her for a change in expression. _

_"I know it's soon, and you don't have to say 'yes'... it's just that I have six rooms and four baths and no one to share them with," he justified, devolving emotion to reason. "You're here more than at your place and I want you to be here even more if you do, too–"_

_"Shh..." Bella whispered, cutting him off with her fingertips against his mouth. He looked up from her collarbone to see the dawning of a smile that left him breathless, the tumult of his emotions softening in that split second before she kissed him. _

_He kissed her too, dazed by her mouth sliding open for him, by the taste of her tongue on his lips. _

_"I would love to live with you... thank you for asking me," she breathed._

_"Oh..." he sighed without thinking, the deep gratitude at her agreement making his heart soar. _

_"I want to make you happy," Bella smiled, her __serious promise wrapped in seduction now, the tone of her response changing to serious intimacy. Rolling her forehead against his, she began to actively feel him, breathing in tandem, touching and kissing him as if she couldn't get enough. Edward had never seen anything like her, never felt so adored; she was absorbing him, accepting everything he was. The orphan in him felt loved again._

_"You do..." Edward replied to her near-forgotten statement, the words trailing off as she touched his erection again. With minimal adjustment, she slid her hand inside his zipper, each of their mouths reacting to the pleasure. She licked her lips and he groaned, mouth quivering to touch hers, to feel her. Through further minimal maneuvering, she slid him __inside of her._

_In the back of his mind he knew he couldn't drive tonight, knew the charity event was over and others were filing to their town cars, the possibility of them being caught doubling with every moment. That didn't matter to him, though. All that mattered was _them_. That Bella had agreed to share his home with him._

_Slowly, his hands met her hips, rocking her, each groan and moan drowned by slow, seeking tongues and unspoken passion._

_For Edward, there was no better place than inside of Bella, no better feeling than her body in his arms, no deeper connection to another person. No greater love._

* * *

**I hope this brings a little mystery forward and answers some questions, as well as explaining some of the psychological co-dependency which has seemingly linked a psychopath and a sociopath. Poor Edward, indeed. They're getting him nice and primed, letting him stew for a week in despair before upping the game. **

**Just to clarify, Edward and Bella are not married. Victoria's mentioning of this amongst other inaccurate theories about Bella shows how crazy she is, and also how she's seeing in Bella what she wants to see. Because she's crazy. :)**

**As for the other question, Edward and Bella's relationship is pretty new. He met her on the train right before the first of his major deals. **

**I just want to say that editing can be lonely and I really appreciate all of your reviews and PM's! This community is amazing. I had fun writing this and I hope you liked this update. Now, off to edits and then your review replies! Happy Sunday!**


	5. Chapter 5, Prompt: Smoke

**I do not own Twilight. Hi, all. So sorry it took way longer to do this, but year-end is hectic and novel edits take precedence. I wrote these as I could and then pieced them together. Nevertheless, this is my entry for the Fictionista Workshop WitFit 12.16.09 prompt, "smoke", and also Chapter 5 of Hope May Vanish. Special thanks to UA for always being articulate with her lovely saves. **

**Thank you to every single one of you that reviewed and PM'd, I can't wait to chat with you in reply. You are all so awesome! Enjoy.**

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"You're scared," Alec said to Felix, snorting another line, his eyes wild.

Tossing his back into the leather couch, he relaxed, knowing Victoria would be gone for a while. They had the old mansion all to themselves, so he propped up his feet, exploring the satellite channels.

"Fuck you. What do I gotta be scared of? A chained up bitch?" Felix mocked, flexing his hands to funnel his tension. The coke was fading and he hated coming down.

"If you weren't scared, you wouldn't be stalling." A sinister smile on his face, Alec laughed, thinking dangerous thoughts about Bella.

Evil bastard, Felix understood, seeing the malice in his face. Felix wasn't sure why this whole situation bothered him so much, having no problem robbing and stealing. Victoria was paying him well and he shouldn't care, but this was just different. And he was tired of taking orders from someone younger and less experienced, resenting Victoria for always deferring to Alec, the anger over his impending mission transforming into other complaints.

"I wanted another line," Felix replied, rolling his eyes. Sliding the mirror across the glass table, he tightened the dollar bill and took a hit, that burn a welcome feeling.

"Yeah... yeah... when you're done, let me know." Shaking his head, Alec looked at Felix with pity for the job he had to do, wanting to avoid the woman until it was time to exchange her for the money.

Choosing a football game, both men privately remembered the abduction of the Swan woman, each man recalling the crime from different perspectives. Neither felt guilty for being rough, for leaving her below while they'd partied for days, but while Alec remembered the shock on her face when he grabbed her, the way she struggled while forcing her down the stairs, Felix's stomach ached with regret. For both men, Bella's captivity was an elephant to be ignored, one they had to now face, hence the trepidation.

Deciding to prove he wasn't scared of a girl, Felix took another hit, dipping his finger in his water, snorting higher before hopping up.

"Whatever. I'll be back," Felix grumbled. Alec paid him no attention, his thoughts unfeeling and surgical, the regret of Marcus' east side post silently nagging at him again, wondering if he could've treaded into the camera path.

With a sour stomach, Felix headed to the shelter, snatching the woman's new clothes, clean gloves, the key and a flashlight from the hallway table, deciding to make it quick. At the shelter door, he marched forward, entering the black staircase, his racing heart thumping the moment the latch closed behind him. The shelter didn't fit the home above, the upper floors decorated in fine furnishings while this place was virtually abandoned, the smell of mildew and old boxes overwhelming. The eerie notes of a piano piece floated up the staircase toward him, even louder when he opened the door. He knew the stories about this place, that Victoria once held Roman-style orgies, that her father had a man killed here... but that didn't scare Felix. Bella Swan scared Felix.

The dark room was only lit in the corners, multiple pathways to various storage items carved throughout. Felix began to walk, shivering as the temperature dropped by five, saying a Catholic prayer to virgins and Jesus, hoping for their protection in this new life he was living. Just get the clothes to the girl, he reminded himself. She was on the south side of the boxes, he remembered, his flashlight casting beams around the room, his shoes squeaking on the wet concrete.

"Hello?" Felix barked, glancing around in the barely-lit darkness.

Chopin continued, the haunting notes punctuating his uncertainty, emanating from the speakers above. Slow, but soothing. Sad, he thought.

"Hello?" he shouted again, the sound echoing.

A gasp to his right drew his attention, the sound sending his high nerves more alert. She was close, he realized, swallowing coke flavored saliva thickly. And just as he took three steps in that area, her pale feet came into view; white and filthy.

Barely alert, Bella had gasped awake, being lurched from a dream-like state, hallucinations caused by deprivation of human necessities swimming. Once her mind registered that someone was nearby, she stiffened, unsure of what to expect next, thankful the approach of her visitor brought quiet thuds of sneakers. Not the clicking of overpriced heels. Her body was in pain, her muscles sore and her lungs tired of breathing.

Felix too her in, seeing the Swan woman curled into a ball with her back turned, the thin, blue dress clinging to her body. He wondered what she was thinking and feeling, being down in this dungeon all alone. Felix understood she believed they watched her around the clock via surveillance, so he supposed she did nothing out of fear.

"Hey!" The tone he used was aggressive, but she did not flinch. Her body had taken to freezing when uncertain, to locking up when a predator was nearby. In fits of dazed thought she wondered if she was experiencing some primal instinct because she couldn't control it.

For Felix, her prolonged unresponsiveness both bothered and irritated him. Unsure of how to proceed, he took another step forward, shining his light up and down her figure. After a good glance, seeing her bones through her dress, he picked up the stick laid against the chair to poke her, hoping no one was hitting her with it.

"Sit up," he demanded weakly, poking her with it, the dormant gentleman in him hating that a pretty lady was being treated that way. Frail didn't cover it, she looked dead already. The same pang of guilt he'd experienced after cuffing her to the pipe emerged, but he breathed it away.

Bella did as she was told, pushing off the ground to sit upright, reminding Felix of some horror movie he'd watched starring a creepy dead ghost. It had long, dark hair just like hers.

"Turn around, lady; it's time for you to change your clothes." His voiced masked all concern and Bella wondered what he would do with her now, her foggy mind still lingering with that deep sleep, her painful cuffs reminding her of captivity.

_Time to change your clothes. _She didn't want to undress in front of the man while blindfolded, but she would. Once a shy woman, the thought no longer made her blush, because Bella knew now what it was to _need_. The pit of her stomach was eating itself; she could feel it. Tired and weary, without food or clean water and clothed in only her thin dress and bare feet, Bella understood she would get sick. She hoped that after changing as he requested, she could press him for something to eat.

"Make it quick or else..." he warned. Remembering the woman's threats to take Edward if she was uncooperative repeated, Bella deciding obedience was best. The woman had promised they could catch him easily, sworn they'd force Edward to watch her die. The very thought of him being subjected to this was unconscionable; she would do everything to prevent that.

Taking a step forward, Felix set the clean, dry clothes on the ground and backed away. Reaching out, she felt the ground, moving closer to his voice. It was hard for Bella, though-her wrist so swollen and purple, possibly broken, cuffed tightly to the rusty pipe high above her head. She explored the two-piece, velour jump suit Victoria had set aside further, trying to find the entrance to the shirt.

"Hurry!" Felix barked, discomfited by her slow movements.

With a deep breath, she positioned the shirt on her knee and reached behind for her dress, promising herself she was doing it for Edward's safety. Resolving to be strong.

Felix had fully intended on watching, too, but he couldn't once she started. Diverting the flashlight he turned, lighting a cigarette, the smoke obscuring his manners. Don't be such a pussy, he reminded himself.

When needed to dress, Bella stood as best she could, the embarrassment of impending nudity clenching her stomach. The piano music she had grown to appreciate was soft, lulling methodically into its final set of notes, giving her a focus. Pretending that it calmed her, she tried to remain strong. Just move slow, she coached herself, fresh tears beneath her blindfold brimming as her dressed slipped off, picturing the faceless man watching her on the other side.

Once she was finished, Bella stood half dressed, unable to pull the top on all the way while cuffed. Her dress was bunched around the injured wrist, the new shirt around her neck.

Not daring to remove her blindfold lest she be punished again, she waited through the humiliation, knowing her near nudity was probably being watched, recorded.

*

Winter was approaching, the chill of Fall ebbing with each northern wind. Huddled and grieving, a crowd boasting at least 600 stood at the United Methodist Church, six blocks from Edward's home. To an unconnected outsider, the scene resembled a Roman funeral, but amidst the glow of hundreds of vigil candles, Alice walked the crowd, feeling the energy of so much love in one place. The people that had gathered meant so much to her. They weren't necessarily friends or even neighbors, nor had half probably ever met Bella, yet they were there, rallying to pray. In spirit and in body, the hundreds of mothers, fathers, and children were there despite the weather. For her brother, for Alice. For Bella.

It wasn't just the national attention, or the stories of a pretty girl and good man torn apart; people were moved by the tragedy of Bella's disappearance, showing up in droves to pray for her and the world they lived in. Alice wished her brother had made it, though she understood why he stayed away. He hated the media and she would never subject him to that, but she knew the thousands of flower bouquets and the 24 hour vigil would make him feel loved and supported. She promised to absorb it, to feel it for the both of them.

Sniffles and whispers were frequent, but all attention was on the minister delivering his prayer, speaking of strength and faith in "times like these.". Though Alice had never been a religious woman, those words spoke to her now. Through her strength and faith, she was becoming stronger, more confident in her ability. For the first time in a decade she felt good about herself, felt less guilt over the past. Because Alice Cullen was_ seeing_.

And not just random pieces of the future, or sections of events that had yet to take place. The images were still unclear when first emerging, but with concentration, her senses glued the mosaics together, bringing Bella Swan's future to her mind. Somehow, not only was Alice tapping into the future, but she was doing so through Bella's eyes. The last premonition arrived suddenly in the middle of the previous night, as Alice lay on a blow-up mattress in Bella's office.

"_I can't get this off while handcuffed," Bella whispered weakly. _

_Bella was blindfolded, but the cover slipped and from the corner of her eye. The room was dark, but she could see a man standing in front of her, his face close enough for details. He was tall, thick and baby-faced with brown eyes and hair. A mustache and long, pointy nose…_

"_I'll uncuff you, but don't try to get brave. I'll hit a woman," the burly man said._

Breathless and disoriented, Alice had jumped up, pacing the floor with the details she'd seen. Bella was captive in a dark room by a man with those features. Blindfolded and dirty, but alive and feeding her glimpses.

And now Alice knew what Bella's captor looked like, the revelation cementing her previous theory to fact: Alice was meant to save Bella Swan. She wasn't sure if it was redemption for failing her parents, for failing Edward and herself, but that didn't matter anymore. The sense that she would succeed, though raw and untapped, left her confident. Her purpose, her heart and her hope soared with that latest premonition, infusing her with the sense that recovering Bella was possible. She just needed to follow her instincts.

It took every ounce of restraint Alice had to not share this news with her brother, with both detectives as they met with Bella's father. But something told her to be patient, to keep her mind open to the future, to tread carefully with revealing her gift. Something inside of Alice whispered that she had enough time, that it wasn't irresponsible to wait. It wasn't that revealing her gift to them was too much of a risk, though no one, not even her beloved brother, knew what she was capable of. It just didn't feel right, a gut instinct she couldn't explain anymore than she could understand her gift.

The row of people thinned, so Alice walked to the gate of the church, stopping at the candle display then; the crowd's hopeful aura surging with the minister's words was nearly tangible. Saying a prayer for her parents, Alice felt the ache of loss only the left behind experience, the vacuum death creates sinking in as she spoke to them with her thoughts. Trying to channel that pain into renewed focus for Bella was difficult, amending the past with the future her silent hope. But she would do it.

And yet, despite her best efforts to remain strong, tears slipped down her face as she lit one candle for her mother, listening half-heartedly to the minister's continued speech. So rarely she allowed herself to think of them, to think of the horrible accident that changed everyone's lives. To think of her failures.

"These are the times that try our spirits, that push us to the edge of our faith, that make us believe hope may vanish. But in these darkest hours we must stay resolved. Pray and give support to the family of Bella Swan…."

The minister was right, Alice thought.

"I'll find her. I will… for you… for Edward…" she whispered to the flame through shaky resolve.

With that promise in her heart, Alice knelt further to reach the second candle for her father, the tail of her jacket crinkling plastic-covered bouquets. Please tell me more, Bella, she prayed. Show me more, give me everything you can.

Lighting a candle for Bella, too, she prayed for her brother's strength, prayed to God above that He give her the faith to keep seeing, prayed that her instincts to wait were right. She prayed, too, for the fortitude to do what needed to be done, for the courage to reveal her gift. Not to Edward, of course, but to someone that could use it to help her save Bella.

Rising, Alice took slow steps back into the crowd, the voices of strangers rising and falling in a song she didn't know. Turning to continue her walk through the crowd, she closed her eyes, pulled her hood over her head and practiced her gift, seeing the bodies she would navigate before taking the steps.

When the hymn was nearly over, she stopped seeing and took a seat on the steps of the church, resuming her internal argument. Considering the second biggest decision of her life. For such precious confidence, to which detective should she confide her gift?

*

"You have a nice home, Edward." Charlie complimented, both men unsure why either kept up polite discussion. Neither wanted to speak, each lost in their own grief, both painfully aching with worry. They were nervous, anxious, and grieved but trying to stay strong.

Never a man of many words, for Charlie his grief for his daughter was internalized. Having shed his tears privately, he was now resolute, intent on finding her. Intent on involving himself in any way he could. But it was difficult for Charlie to sit down with the detectives on their way, so he paced. Meanwhile, Edward just wanted him to sit; other men's anxiety made him doubly nervous.

Charlie didn't want to be rude, either, but he couldn't shake the bizarre feeling that he'd walked into a stranger's life, feeling like an absent father though he'd been anything but. It was strange to tour her home, to see pictures of his daughter so happy, to see her new car and her nice things. She had a full kitchen and a big back yard, both much larger than his. She even had her very own office. Things Charlie had never been able to give her, things she deserved.

Neither he nor his daughter were very adept at sharing emotions and he'd never wanted to pry, but he regretted not doing so now. Bella was grown and she cared for him; that was all that mattered before, but now, seeing that Edward Cullen was deeply in love with his daughter, he felt neglectful and selfish; saddened that he didn't know their life before. Saddened that he never saw his baby girl happy.

"What time did you say they'd be here?" Charlie asked, diverting his own despair, his thoughts growing intensely anxious again. There was no time to lose.

"7:30. Every morning," Edward replied, staring at the carpet, slightly hung over.

"Right," Charlie said, glancing at his watch. It was shortly after 7:30 already.

Edward's head ached, the depressive pressure of his loss a constant weight on his heart. Edward bounced his foot, wondering where she was that morning, picturing her locked away in some cell. He had the feeling she was being kept somewhere, pinned and bound. He shivered in fear, tears on the verge of his eyes though he held them back.

Charlie's thoughts wandered as he walked, considering strategy for new, more expansive searches, something he was going to suggest to both detectives. At 7:37, both men jumped with the gate's buzz. Edward paused to listen, while Charlie watched how rich people handed such things.

"Mr. Cullen… Detectives Hale and Norris are here," Edward's assistant said over the intercom.

"Thank you. Please have them meet in my office."

Edward joined Charlie on his feet, standing by the door then. Tentatively, they nodded at one another, waiting.

"You get along with these two?" Charlie asked.

"Yes, sir. Both have excellent reputations. Detective Hale is a woman, graduate from the academy top of her class, 10-year career in missing persons. Detective Norris is a recent transition with a long history as a state police officer. Oddly enough," Edward continued, just now appreciating the set of events fully. "He was involved in the case of my former mentor, Alexander Matthews, former founder and CEO of M Corporation."

Silence set in as Charlie considered how to respond. He knew very little about the business world, but read the paper. M Corporation was a fairly famous company, Mr. Cullen a renowned part of that success.

"That's where you work, right?" Charlie confirmed. Edward nodded, still thinking how strange it was that the man he'd met before was now working on Bella's case. Small world, he thought.

Suddenly, a soft knock on his door drew both men's attention. A team vibe passed between them as they both prepared to ask for an aggressive new effort immediately, or Edward was buying his own resources. Deep down, Edward was falling apart, unraveling. He needed her back, needed to know, needed to move, to act, to begin doing anything to find her. The door to his office opened.

"Mr. Cullen, Mr. Swan," both detectives greeted, stepping inside. The cop in Charlie took them both in, seeing Norris as a fit man in his 30's, a sharp dresser with perceptive eyes. Beautiful and tall, Detective Hale stunned all with her presence, though Edward had met her repeatedly. Edward shook their hands, retreating to his desk while Charlie navigated to a seat. Both detectives followed suit.

"Mr. Cullen, Mr. Swan, we have some news for you," Detective Hale began, hoping this detail would reassure him. She hadn't found Bella Swan yet, she had faith for the first time in a long while.

"You do?" Edward said urgently, his stomach lurching, heart racing at the very suggestion of a lead. These expressions of hope and plan and possibility were written across his face, showing Charlie the worried young man that loved his daughter deeply, showing Hale the pain she saw in herself at times, and Norris what love and loss truly looked like.

Smiling softly, and scooting forward, perched on the edge of her seat, Hale felt his desperation, his pain, his sense of urgency, wanting to help him. Norris looked on at the scene, seeing the greatest threat to his success personified.

"Last night," she began, snapping her briefcase, pulling out a file. "We discovered that there are possibly two or more suspects in this case. This is the barrel of an AR-15; an assault rifle." Charlie leaned in and Edward jumped up, crossing the room in a few strides to see what appeared to be pictures.

Flipping a photograph out, Hale passed it. Edward took it first, though Charlie was the cop, his mental state in need.

"This was taken at 6:49p.m. by your section three security camera. We believe this was the time Bella was removed from your home. The person is standing in the frame in broad daylight, bearing a fire arm on your property. This means they were either incredibly stupid, or incredibly confident, but either way–they weren't acting alone. They were standing watch."

Chills and another wave of nausea hit all three men as Edward thumbed through the pictures, seeing the enemy of his existence in the barrel of a firearm. "This changes things, right? Does this give you new leads? Anything?"

Hale knew this was coming next. "Yes. But first, can you think of anyone you may have upset that would be capable of this? I fear we're dealing with professionals, but we can't rule out personal motivations."

"No," Edward said certainly. He was a good man, a rare example of ethics in his circle. Edward always treated people fairly, kindly. When he wasn't sure of a man's character, he always gave the benefit of the doubt, a practice that had burned him deeply and repeatedly though he never grew jaded.

Anyone that knew him would agree that if any man were to have no enemies, it was a man like Edward Cullen.

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**I hope you liked it! Edward dreamlike despair represents the first stage of grief, one he will slowly come out of. Marcus and Felix made serious mistakes and now Alice has a choice. Rosalie is a bright one, she being the first narrator for the next chapter. I hope you like her point of view. **

**Thanks again to all of you for reading and reviewing with your awesome encouragement or just to say hi! I am so glad you're all messaging about the psychological elements. I love hearing your theories. ****For those that asked, WitFit registration is open for January now, closing 12/31/09, so if you're a new or veteran writer, definitely consider it. It's been so fulfilling and fun. **** You can register here: ****www{dot}fictionistaworkshop{dot}com/witfit/introducing-witfit/**

**Merry Christmas!**


	6. Chapter 6, Theatrics

**I do not own Twilight.**

**Hi all! First, I want to apologize for the delay in getting this to you. I had the full chapter completed last week, but while in the process of moving the text from my Gmail drafts to a Word document my PC froze... yes, that's right. FROZE. When Word crashes and you have to reboot, what is saved on the clipboard does not survive. :) So, I give you Chapter 6, round two, rebuilt from scratch. **

**This chapter was not written around a WitFit prompt as time has not permitted me to continue for this month and the story is its own now. Thank you to every single one of you that have contacted me, shared the story or recommended it. The outline holds twists and turns I can't wait to share with you! Enjoy!**

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Unlike some women in her profession, Detective Rosalie Hale never complained of glass ceilings or assignments that weren't serious enough, dangerous enough. And for that reason, the good old boys at the Seattle Federal Bureau of Investigation furthered her career. After ten years of dedication and no-nonsense police work, Hale was a rising star. Being beautiful did her favors, and about that she had no illusions. But she also had twenty solid cases a year because of her blood, sweat and tears, most resolved after the first few days.

Except for this one. And now, at 11:26 pm, four days after Isabella Swan was stolen from her home, Hale paced the floor of the headquarters, thinking.

Running through the details again was automatic, a part of her that was permanently switched on, yet this evening she was restless for other reasons. Cullen would be bringing in hunters tomorrow, and she needed to be ready. She had been waiting for Cullen to snap, to finally decide enough was enough. She was thankful when he'd come to ask her opinion about hiring private contractors, knowing Norris would discourage his decision. But not Hale. "Interference" wasn't a concern for her like it was for Norris; she wanted to find Swan, and the more resources she could employ, the better.

From Cullen's last phone call, she knew the men arriving tomorrow were former military, specially trained locators of human beings. The prospect of unleashing them on this case was secretly thrilling. And though she didn't expect them to take her guidance, she hoped to direct them in any way she could. Hope burned in her chest, praying they would find something her team had missed, though she couldn't fathom what they could have overlooked. So far, Hale and her team had done everything in their power to bring Isabella Swan home.

Within hours of being assigned to the Swan case, she unleashed the full resources of the local sheriff's department and the FBI. As her agents paired into six 25-person teams, they searched for the young woman through day-and-night shifts—re-canvassing neighborhoods, conducting interviews, and asking for DNA samples from three possible suspects.

Another 24 hours later, ten acres of deep, thick forest, trees, and shrubs had been scoured, from Cullen's backyard to the interstate behind the land. The FBI's local resources had been mobilized, as hundreds of volunteers and three teams of cadaver dogs pored over nearby forests and fields using sonar equipment, collecting hundreds of pieces of evidence. In some places, the foliage was so thickly overgrown they could hardly walk, but they pressed on, finding nothing.

Hale had no choice but to get creative. Refusing to see the press as an interference, knowing exposure would be the key to Swan's return, she blasted the television with character witnesses and pictures of Isabella Swan and Edward Cullen's happy life together. Soon, the nation was enthralled.

Meanwhile, under the glare of warehouse lights, twenty hotline operators wearing headsets took tips on the case, the bureau's top special agents talking to leads, desperate to find anything. For four days, they'd taken tens of thousands of calls from people seeing brunette women in grocery stores and gas stations.

Still finding nothing.

Every hour that passed felt like an individual death sentence.

And Hale had questions as she walked the length of the room in her boots: the operation of snatching Isabella Swan was no amateur job. No forced entry because the backdoor was unlocked. There were no fingerprints, just the imprint of a man's size-eleven shoe indicating a perpetrator. Inside the home, the only signs of struggle were at the desk.

But why would a seasoned criminal slip that gun barrel into the frame of a video surveillance camera? And most perplexing, if the job was professional, what was the motive? Four days and no ransom? Revenge killings were possible, but nothing about that scenario fit. Maybe with East Coast mafia families and cartels along the Mexican border, but in Seattle, Washington? Organized crime didn't exist that way in this part of the country.

But if there were two perpetrators, how was it that the trail led right to the highway, indicating three individuals on a single dirt bike? Even if the perpetrators were thin, weighing no more than 180 a piece, with the 110-pound Swan and tracks small enough to indicate youth-sized, how did they manage to escape on one bike? There were no other vehicles on the property from all of their searching; the front driveway tapes were clean.

Lab reports on the shoe and the motorcycle tracks were due in the morning, but even with identification, nothing made sense.

Hale's mind bounced back to her partner's theory, considering it one more time. Norris believed human traffickers had taken her, but that wasn't likely, either. Why go to the trouble of taking her from her home when it was easier to steal a woman in public?

Hale had once mentioned business motivations, because Cullen was a powerful and rich. But Norris shut her down with excellent points. He was a tax-paying goody-two-shoes by all definitions. One of those men who knew little of how much he was resented, operating in a state of constant consideration for others. A simultaneously respected man.

Hale never dwelled on that lead, but didn't disregard it, either. Cullen was young, handsome, successful, brilliant and a tycoon before the age of thirty. That had to sting egos.

In interviewing Cullen's business partner, Laurent Dubois, Hale had observed that he seemed severely shaken by Swan's disappearance, leading Hale to believe they were close. Yet observations from a distance told another story. Laurent kept closed body language when speaking with Cullen, the suave persona he'd used on Hale completely absent. He was a player of men, one she could see a mile away.

Hale's stomach grumbled, breaking her from her thoughts and plans. Groaning, realizing she hadn't eaten in fourteen hours, she stopped pacing, closing up her desk to go home. Filing away her case reports, she locked her desk and put on her jacket, sighing when a soft knock sounded against her door.

"Come in," Detective Hale called, grabbing her things to indicate she was leaving.

"Detective Hale?" A small voice called from the doorway.

Looking up, Hale stopped, staring into the nervous face of Edward Cullen's sister.

*

Charlie's thoughts wandered as he walked, considering his strategy suggestions for new, more expansive searches. Charlie suspected they would cover the territory they had and then scan the next twenty-five miles of rivers and lakes, a possibility he hardly wanted to consider.

He'd seen what water did to bodies of the dead. Picturing his little girl in such a damaged state shattered the composure he wore, his frown and silent grimace hidden just in time.

Across the moonlit room, Charlie Swan the father took a seat, letting his silent tears fall. Staring at the moon, he too wondered where his daughter was, if he would ever see her again, regretting not arriving sooner. He had been on his annual hunting and fishing trip with no means of contact. So much time had been lost; time he would never get back.

"They'll search every inch, Edward." Charlie Swan promised to Edward and himself. His voice was gruff, thick with stress and fear.

"I know," Edward replied weakly, feeling the pain of her loss as a dull ache.

Edward stared into his phone, imagining her name lighting up the screen, though he knew that wouldn't happen. Her phone was upstairs, he reminded himself through his semi-drunken haze. When she called, it would be from a number he didn't recognize.

His eyes flitted back and forth between the phone and her photograph, the light from the screen fading every fifteen seconds. His thumb pressed the zero button methodically as he prayed she would come home to him. _Tomorrow_, he said again, the promise heavy and heartbreaking.

But there was new hope that Edward clung to: a special team was arriving tomorrow, one recommended by his senator. He regretted not hiring them long ago, wishing he hadn't listened to Norris. He had been persuasive when explaining the strategy to Edward, citing cases where interference complicated investigations. He said that vigilantes often tangled things up, and just to give the FBI time.

But the government had failed him. It was the fourth day since Bella's disappearance, and they had nothing substantial to offer.

After Charlie told him flat-out they could be doing more with extra resources, he decided to consult Detective Hale instead. When approached, Hale candidly agreed that the more resources on the case, the better. After listening to her suggestions, he took them.

The more time he spent with the two detectives, the more he grew to dislike Norris. He couldn't put his finger on why and had never verbalized his dislike, but he knew enough about his instincts to realize when his distrust was valid. Charlie glanced at Edward sitting on the couch behind him, wondering what he was thinking. He had been staring at that photograph of Bella and holding his phone for the last hour, unmoving and silent. The pale light through the doorway made him look dead. There was a scotch on the table next to him, but he wasn't drinking it.

"Edward?" called Charlie, catching his attention.

"Yes, sir," Edward replied, staring at Bella's waist in the picture again, remembering how soft and little she was in his arms. He wished he could hold her right then, feel her and smell her flowery perfume. He would never let her go.

"You all right, son?" Charlie asked.

That was one of those questions Edward was gradually growing angered by. Of course he wasn't _all right_, or _okay_, or _feeling better_, or _getting some rest_, or any of the other empty things people say to one another when they have nothing else to say...

Bitterness bubbled in his throat, but he reminded himself that it was just a question. One asked by the only man who truly understood what he was enduring.

"I'll be okay, Charlie," He lied, deciding again that if she never came home, he would have to do it. It would be too much to live without her. Picturing her dead somewhere in some place he couldn't reach, Edward shuddered, anger simmering inside of his heart and soul again. Sadly, he ran his thumb across her picture, imagining her rising from the field of flowers, walking toward him, touching him, hugging him. He closed his eyes, picturing it, his joy singed by anger over her loss. He tried to calm the bitter storm he could feel pulsing in him, a storm he couldn't stop from growing.

All the while, Charlie saw a man lost in terrified distress, outwardly coping, but inwardly crumbling. Though Charlie's bond with his daughter was strong, he could only imagine the pain Edward must be in. Edward Cullen missed Bella's abduction by twenty-four minutes. There wasn't just love and loss to feel, but regret and anger, too.

As he watched the young man who loved his daughter silently torture himself, he understood that Edward Cullen would eventually crack. Turning to peer into the large backyard of Cullen's home, he tried to think of how he could be useful to the young man, knowing he wasn't. Bella was in God's hands now and all they had were prayers and more men.

Coincidentally, as that silent detail crossed Charlie's mind, tainted with the uncertain dread of what-ifs, Edward recalled that night of horror, too.

_"Bella, I'm home!" Edward called, loving the way that sounded._

_ She'd teased him over how cliché it was, but he didn't care. As an orphan who'd grown up in the houses of strangers, Edward was happy to have a place he could share with her. Setting his briefcase on the floor and kicking off his shoes, he thumbed through the bills on the table in the entryway, seeing she'd checked the mail. He never stopped enjoying little domestic things like that and seeing her name over his address thrilled him. Isabella Cullen, he repeated to himself, liking the sound of that._

_An unopened envelope from Pepper Preparatory leaned against the mirror. Edward smiled, seeing that it was probably good news. He hoped she would get the teaching job and get out of that neighborhood. _

_She'd set it there on purpose, he decided, wondering whether she was nervous to open it alone, if she wanted to open it together._

_She's so cute, Edward thought, picking up the envelope and putting it in his pocket. _

_Intrigued as to why she was so quiet, Edward padded in his socks across the entryway toward the kitchen, frowning at its unused state. She had said dinner would be at 7:00 and it was now 7:15. _

_He was disappointed at first; all day he'd wanted to have her naked in a blanket, with that new red wine and a fire. But he reminded himself not to expect that just because they were living together now._

_Jogging slightly, he reached the backdoor, seeing it unlocked. He wondered if she was in the Jacuzzi, picturing her in that polka-dot swimsuit. _

_Once outside, Edward could see she wasn't there._

_"Bella?" he called again, his voice swallowed by the dark porch, echoing quietly in the night air. For good measure, he walked the patio, just to be sure she wasn't playing a joke. _

_A quick check of the garage, the bathrooms and the laundry area left him a little concerned. Maybe she's waiting for me upstairs, he thought, smiling at that. He hoped so. Her truck was in the driveway, so he knew she was there._

_Taking the spiral steps to the second floor, the syllables of her name bounced around the vaulted ceiling as he called out. _

_"Bella?... Where are you, woman?" he called again, opening their bedroom door swiftly, hoping to catch her off guard for teasing him._

_But the room was still and silent._

_He turned, seeing the light from her office, his heart speeding then sinking after opening the door. Her chair was empty and the computer mouse was turned on its side. All of her things were there; her purse was open and her cell phone was charging. Those little jeweled flats were under the desk._

_Grabbing her cell, he reviewed her last calls, seeing Alice's number. He breathed a sigh of relief; they had been together all day and had probably gone off somewhere. Obviously, she was out._

_Frowning and embarrassed by his paranoia, he pressed Send and called his sister._

_During the first rings, Edward took a seat on the hallway bench, realizing his heart was racing. He had felt this same sense of fear when her cell phone had died at the train station one day. When she had climbed into the car, he had been angry, upset with her for allowing her phone to die, for placing herself at risk. Patiently, she had calmed him down, but was still concerned after his apology. If he wasn't careful, she would see how pathetic he was. _

_He received his sister's voice with a sigh of relief, but that feeling died quickly. Alice confirmed dropping Bella off at 5:00 and that her plans were to make dinner._

_Something was wrong._

_Edward hung up and called the last numbers in Bella's cell phone, including her doctor. Now frustrated, he rang around to their neighbors and Bella's friends from the school, searching for her. _

_When no one had information, he began pacing in her office, wondering where she was, unable to shake the bad feeling in his gut. His eyes kept straying to that mouse on her desk, looking at her belongings that lay there. _

_At 8:30, Edward called the police, only to be told to wait. _

_For twenty more hours. _

_He waited for two before phoning the Deputy Director of the FBI personally._

*

During the previous night, Bella Swan decided she was grateful for the constant pain. Fading in and out of consciousness was tiresome business, but the jabs and burns of starvation kept her awake. For better or worse, she thought darkly. This wouldn't end well, and she knew it.

Her sanity was slipping away, either from dehydration or isolation, but there was nothing she could do. Through Beethoven's masterpieces, her mind wondered and wandered, remembered and regretted. Each day brought the likelihood that she would die there closer; and she ached not for her life, but for his, because Bella understood Edward now.

All that love was given carefully, because he feared most what he was enduring now—losing her. She had seen that vulnerability in his eyes a thousand times, the temperance of his words and actions all an effort to walk fine lines he didn't need to walk. To always be good to her, and to love her—so that she wouldn't leave him.

Captured by memories of Edward touching her face and kissing her, Bella's heart ached for their love that would never be.

_"Let me finish..." he said. "I have to say it because... I couldn't before..." he whispered, touching her face, his pleading eyes so genuine._

_"What do you mean?" she asked, curious and wanting to understand. Was it that he couldn't _say_ "I love you", or that he couldn't love before at all? She wasn't sure and needed to know, the latter concept tugging at the deepest parts of her love for him._

_"I meant that it was hard to say… 'I love you…'"_

_Bella smiled at his cute answer. Her adoration of him was growing by the day. "And you couldn't say that before, but you can now?" Bella whispered, confirming the sweet truth._

_"I wanted to for so long," he smiled, tracing her face softly._

_"Why didn't you?"_

_He shrugged, his eyes avoiding hers. "I didn't want to pressure you... or move too fast."_

_"Be yourself, Edward."_

_"But what if I do something to make you leave?" he whispered, softer than before. "Sometimes we fight."_

_"What we do isn't fighting," Bella laughed, remembering their last "fight", a debate over whether the Caribbean or California was the better vacation. "Edward?"_

_"Yes?" he answered. _

_"I'll be here for as long as you want me," Bella promised him, kissing his chin._

_"I'll always want you," he breathed, kissing her mouth. "Will you stay with me tonight?"_

"_I have class in the morning…" Bella reminded him, not wanting to go either, but knowing she should. She didn't have a job that allowed her to stroll in whenever she wanted. Class started at 8:00 a.m. sharp. "I have no clothes, either."_

"_I'll take you home. We'll get up early and make breakfast. Does that work? Please, Bella… Stay with me tonight…"_

The loud click of a heel startled Bella from her hallucination, dumping her from her peace with Edward back to her Hell.

Beneath her blindfold she blinked, struggling to recall reality.

_Click, clack, click, clack_.

Fear struck her and she shuddered, but from more than fright. The woman was coming closer, coming for Bella again. Automatically, Bella rocked against her cuffs in fear, withdrawing her bruised legs to her chin, caring little for her aching wrist. The woman had taken to kicking Bella when she had no answers. She was clueless about Edward's finances, but the woman never believed her.

_"What if I do something to make you leave..." _Bella could hear the woman moving in the distance and knew she should be scared, but her thoughts were gaining momentum in another direction, backed by things she was beginning to feel only in that moment.

Bella sobbed quietly, those sincere, loving words, and the trust in his eyes hurt to recall, and the thought of Edward in agony—all of it broke her spirit again.

___"What if I do something to make you leave..." _

She remembered his statement again, wishing she could hold his face and reassure him, tell him he never did a thing to push her away. That he was a good man, one she loved and would forever.

But she couldn't. All those things she felt for him were snippets of a love no longer hers, a love ended by the clicking heels coming toward her.

"Why did you take me?" Bella suddenly cried in a fit of her own anger, unable to stop her words from bursting free. If she died in this place, she needed to know. "Please... tell me... why? Why are you doing this?" Her head searched for answers she couldn't see.

"She speaks!" Victoria laughed. Grabbing a metal chair and dragging it toward a cowering Bella, a rush of power made her bold. Seeing Bella at her command was something she was growing used to; the sickest, darkest parts of her reveled in the sadistic control. She knew it was wrong; she just didn't care.

"I bet you're hungry," Victoria said, nudging Bella with her heel.

Steeling herself, hate for her captor rose like bile in Bella's throat, her one determination ringing in her head: she had to know why they had taken her, why they were after Edward, and hopefully to do anything to change the crazy woman's mind.

"I should feed you, but the camera adds ten pounds," Victoria contemplated.

Bella swallowed, checking her wild emotions and humbling herself, listening hard for any sound or movement. "Please… I need food, water…."

"Oh... tsk tsk... don't beg," the woman mocked. "After our little video, I'll give you some bread," Victoria told Bella, lifting her limp, stringy hair with one finger.

Sighing, she rose, crossing the room as Bella's mind raced. What kind of video? That question burned Bella's tongue, but she stayed silent, wondering if she would really receive bread today. Her attempts to ask for food were met with silence by the mustached man. Bella hoped he would come back, but so far, he hadn't. He pitied her; she could feel it. Given the chance to spend time with him, she could persuade him to give her fresh water.

"So... your question," Victoria continued. "Why did I take you, or why am I doing what I am about to do?"

The woman wanted to talk about it. Bella caught the nuances of her statement, realizing then that this might be personal. The thought that the woman might be a jilted lover of Edward's stabbed deep, slashing at her resolve. A resolve held intact for him.

Filing that away and harnessing her bravery, Bella pressed forward. "Both..." she answered.

"Let's see? Where to begin... I guess I could start at the beginning." Chair legs scraped as the woman came closer. "All you need to know is that your man Edward betrays people, and he's very good at covering his tracks."

Bella processed that detail immediately as Victoria moved; the sense of a body flitting around her made Bella shiver again. "One cannot do what he did and expect no consequences. So… Mr. White thought it best to _go for his heart_, and he was right."

Bella listened, rapt and waiting for more details. Victoria sighed somewhere in the distance, suddenly far now, unlatching Velcro.

"We watched for over a month, trying to catch him in something. To see if he had any dirty secrets, but nothing... you had a really _good guy_." Victoria mocked the last words childishly, making Bella cringe.

Ignoring the past tense, Bella dared to ask another question. "What do you mean, you watched?"

"Oh... pinhole cameras in the kitchen, bedroom and living area. I rarely watched you, but Mr. White... he was fascinated. He'd get turned on by watching you, too. I could tell that he desired you, pictured himself in Cullen's place, fucking you senseless... I think that's why he doesn't want to see you like this. I mean... you should see yourself."

Bella didn't respond, weakened with disgust at these details. Her abduction was premeditated revenge for a betrayal? She was going to die over something that already happened. Something Edward had done? She knew Edward better than to believe the woman, ex-lover or not, but after searching her memory, Bella could find nothing that made sense.

"Don't worry... I'm going to bathe you, but not yet," said the woman from a distance.

Then a low beep sounded, and the scraping of metal on concrete.

Unsure of what the woman was doing, Bella's heart began to race, her panic in full swing now. Wanting to ask more questions, but afraid now of what she would learn, Bella froze in fear, mustering the energy to think.

"Lights..." the woman said as if to herself, flipping on lights so blinding that Bella could see them through the black cloth.

Cringing and blinking erratically behind the cover, she tried to see in vain.

"Camera..." the woman continued.

Bella heard the flip of the switch and knew she was being recorded. Her mind scrambled and she sat up, trying to move her arms suspended over her head, confused by the light and the sudden sense of moment.

"Be still!" the woman shouted, the keys chiming and clanging over Bella's head, the ache of her wrist now a series of painful stabs.

The sudden sound of cuffs unlatching shocked her. Realizing her wrist was free, Bella thought to remove the blindfold, to scurry to flee, to get out. But her captor was too quick.

Victoria laughed, grabbing a fistful of Bella's hair, digging her claws into the injured wrist. Bella cried out, the jolt of pain so disabling that her knees weakened and her stomach churned. The panic of being moved to an unknown location seized her chest, but she was desperate to see.

"Don't even think about it," Victoria warned. Painfully, Bella rose to walk, her knees weak. She could hardly gain her bearings. _Edward_, she kept thinking, knowing it was unfair to ask. _Edward, please find me._

A cold steel chair stubbed her toe before Victoria pushed her into the seat. Situating her like an angry parent would a child, Bella felt her hair being moved and her shirt pulled down.

"Well, fuck... there's nothing more I can do."

"Do what?" Bella asked bravely, swallowing thickly, speaking without thinking.

"Shhhh!" the woman hissed, so close that Bella felt saliva land on her face.

The blindfold was ripped from Bella's eyes as the sound of clicking heels retreated. Blinking, Bella shut her now-burning lids in sensory overload, the light so painful she could hardly think. The woman Bella wanted more than anything to see was obscured behind the brightness.

"Sit up. Read the statement on this card. If you don't, I'll open your throat and go for his sister. You have one chance."

Blinded, Bella shook her head in agreement. Anything for them, for Edward and Alice.

"Action..."

*

Edward and Charlie walked with the twelve-man team, carefully searching the woods for tracks, broken branches or clues of any kind. Their thin jackets were hardly a protection from the wind. It was getting colder by the day; the weather seemed to slide closer to winter with every hour. The nightmarish vision of Bella being caught in the cold made Edward sick to his stomach.

Only now there was no folding in on himself. He had a team, a plan and hope again.

The leaves crunched under Charlie's boots as he peered into the wilderness, chanting a silent prayer that Bella be discovered.

"Mr. Cullen!" A voice suddenly shouted, breaking both men from their thoughts. Edward and Charlie turned, seeing the team lead he'd been introduced to running forward. "Sir… please come with me!"

With that, both Charlie and Edward ran toward him, each man's heart skipping with hope, prospect, with the unknown.

"We have two breaks!"

"What?" Edward shouted, nearly tripping on the branch beneath his feet. He stumbled, but recovered, running to the man, to Bella.

Winded due to sprinting from Edward's house to the forest, Jacob Black stopped, resting his palms on his knees before speaking. "We searched inside your home, found small cameras inside your air ducts. They're foreign-made, from a company in Belarus. At the same time, our north team found two trails, sir!"

"Trails? New trails?" Edward confirmed. They had come back recently? The thought angered him, electricity surging into his fingertips, sparking the urge to rage and punch. He held it in though, that storm inside him still brewing slowly, steadily.

"Yes. They were probably cut through or created when Ms. Swan was taken, sir. We found two deviating pairs of tracks off the main track, thick and deep under the bramble. They're identical, sir."

"Identical?" Edward prompted, impatient now. These men were under his employ, and he demanded results.

"Identical to each other, and to the third set… the main set."

The third set. Edward processed that new detail. Did that mean there were three people involved in this? Not one or two?

"Three purchases of the same bike would be a new search pattern. We contacted Detective Hale with the FBI and she's expecting lab results on the tread this afternoon. Once we have that, we'll have the brand…" He trailed off, all three men winded, seeing the possibility of hope.

"It's a lead," Edward said, the knot in his stomach coiling, the beating rhythm of his heart soaring with prospect. Smiling at this sickened joy, staring at Charlie with new hope, Edward _felt_ something good bubble inside of him. Many good things, even.

Staring at the light in Edward's eyes, Charlie could see again his deep love for Bella. And he couldn't help but smile at Edward, relief washing over him, too.

"Yes. A lead."

* * *

**I hope you liked it. I'll be trying to do an update a week, if that's okay! Thanks to all of you silent readers clicking on the story (HA!) and for those that have reviewed and recommended the story! I realized last week that I am not getting any review alerts, so I'll try to review-reply through FFn this week. Thank you for your patience! **

**And quickly... to answer a common PM: My outline has eleven total chapters, and I don't see this expanding from that. I want to update once every week until the story is over. There is no thread for the story on Twilighted, but a reader started one to discuss this update if anyone wants to check it out at Edwardville, a community I highly recommend: http://bit{DOT}ly/72sd6b**

**Anyhow, thank you so much for reading—I hope you liked it! Have a great week! **


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